


Smoother Than a Storm

by azephirin



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Hallucinations, Implied Relationships, Island of Doomed Threesomes, Masturbation, Memories, Mirakuru, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Other, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:08:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3438146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/pseuds/azephirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It keeps my veins hot; the fire's found a home in me.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoother Than a Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime before 2.02, but with spoilers for a number of episodes thereafter. I am only midway through S2, so my apologies for any inaccuracies re: later revelations.

She’s not here tonight. Slade doesn’t know where Shado goes, when she disappears like this, but he’s resigned to it, after so long. Calling out for her does nothing; anger does nothing; even begging is without effect. She comes and goes as she will, and he can only be grateful for her presence when she chooses to give it. Sometimes she’s with him for weeks on end; sometimes she’s away for so long that he despairs of her ever returning. But, he reminds himself, she always returns, and her smile when he sees her again pierces him like sun through fog, burning away the loneliness until he’s forgot it ever existed.

When she’s beside him, Slade falls asleep easily, wrapped in her scent, her touch, the silk of her hair. No nightmares touch him: she’s his guardian. He knows what few, on a first look, would guess: that despite her small size, her delicate features, the weapons with which he can arm himself now, even the benefits of the Mirakuru, she’s twice the warrior he is, will always be. A beautiful bird of prey, he thinks: elegant even as it kills.

But Shado is gone again tonight, as she has been for the past two. Normally he would use the time productively—training, research, reconnaissance—but tomorrow he enters Starling City for the first time, and he must be fully rested and prepared when he enters the home of his enemy. He has plans laid and connections in place, but tomorrow is when the real work—the execution, in every sense of the word—begins. He must be fully in control.

He wishes, desperately, that Shado was here.

She isn’t, though, so he must do what he must.

He closes his book—Sun Tzu, a reliable favorite—and sets it on the nightstand, then reaches over to turn off the light. The submersion into quiet darkness kicks Slade’s other senses into hyperalert, and he forces himself to lie still for a few moments and process everything: the flow of air through the heating ducts, the mild abrasive odor of cleaning products, the sleek slide of the clean sheets against his body.

Ah, there. That’s something to focus on.

He circles the index finger of his left hand around a nipple, while reaching with the right to begin to stroke himself to hardness. He teases himself some more, occasionally scraping a nail over the nipple and feeling his cock jerk in response; when he was younger, he hated how sensitive they were, how girly it seemed, but now he has the memory of the first time Shado put her mouth on one, the sharp pleasure of her teeth and the warm softness of her tongue. It’s one of her favorite things to do on the nights she’s with him, and he gives himself to her, lets her lick and bite until he’s gasping, about to come just from that. Sometimes he does, and she just smiles at him, keeps at it until he’s hard again and writhing beneath her.

His girl is wicked: that’s another thing most people don’t know.

There’s a little bit of precome now, and Slade slicks it around the head of his cock. He lets his legs fall akimbo as he twists his nipple between the fingers of his left hand while thrusting up into the tight fist of his right—it’s tight, hot, messy now, and this time the touch he remembers is rougher, the hand callused after a year on the island, jerking him and then pinning Slade’s hips so that he could lean down and take Slade’s cock into his mouth—

It’s not the memory he wants. He wants the memory of Shado, past or present, steadying herself with her hands on Slade’s shoulders as she sheathes him within her—she runs hot, like a rocket engine, like she’d burn you except it feels good, and Slade fucks up into her, into his fist, and comes with his head thrown back, biting out harsh consonants until they fade into his ragged breath.

It doesn’t end here.

He runs his hands over the rest of his body, lightly over his chest, hips, thighs, even his balls, just enough to raise the hairs on his skin. He rolls his balls gently in one hand, and he has a strong, sudden want for a mouth on them; his fingers curl as if expecting to bury themselves in shaggy blond hair—

Again, not the memory he wants.

Slade wraps his hand around his cock again, and it responds. He couldn’t do this before the Mirakuru: he didn’t have the stamina for more than one round, and any touch in the aftermath was irritating rather than enjoyable. But now he can go for hours, and it’s never too much, even with his heightened senses. When Shado’s here, she can ride him until she’s sweaty and limp, until she’s come two or three times and he’s been right along with her; he can fuck her long and slow until she’s crying out beneath him and raking his back with her nails. There’s a memory from the island, one of a tiny handful of good ones: he’d braced himself on his hands and thrust into her carefully, controlled, until he was barely holding back and she was arching to meet him, wrapping her legs around his hips and urging him deeper inside her. He hadn’t been surprised by an orgasm since he was in his teens, and yet he had to bite his lip to keep from coming, pull back and count to five—except she started swearing at him in Mandarin, and he pushed into her and she pushed back, and he did not know who was fucking whom, just that they were moving together in a tight clench of bodies until she sank her teeth into his shoulder and came, and Slade was helpless to do anything but follow, shuddering and then collapsing in a heap on top of her.

The climax feels like it won’t ever stop: it’s like being thrown into an ocean and carried from wave to wave, and there’s no way of telling how much time passes before he’s finally left ashore. Slade lies there for a moment, letting his breath come back, and he realizes how much of a mess he is: there’s semen all over his chest and belly and hand. He wipes himself off with the sheet, then lies uncovered and lets the cooler air in the room drift over him. He turns on to his side and closes his eyes. His body is relaxed, his muscles looser. He can feel himself dozing off.

“Slade.” Her voice surrounds him like velvet, and he opens his eyes again. She’s lying next to him, on top of the duvet, one hand curled under her cheek. She’s smiling, and he can’t help smiling back.

“Shado,” he says. “Love.”

It’s always like this: he doesn’t hear her, feel her, see her come in, and yet there she is, as though she never left.

“You started without me,” she says, but she sounds amused, affectionate, not angry.

“I didn’t know you were coming back tonight.” He adds, “Sorry, uh, about the mess.”

Now she’s definitely amused. “It’s alright. The staff will clean it tomorrow. You should get some rest, though. It’s an important day tomorrow.”

She reaches for him, and he turns to let her hold him. She’s smaller in both height and breadth, but it works; it always does. “I’m glad you came back,” Slade says. “I missed you.”

“I’ll always be with you, Slade,” Shado says. “Forever.”

“I know,” he tells her: his fire, his muse, his solace, his secret. He falls into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary from "[Yellow Flicker Beat](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/lorde/yellowflickerbeat.html)," by Lorde.
> 
> \-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> Tumblr link: <http://azephirin.tumblr.com/post/112099268294/smoother-than-a-storm-arrow>


End file.
